You Have the Right to Remain Silent
by stealthy290
Summary: Don gets arrested for Public Intoxication after finishing a rough case. COMPLETE!
1. Under Arrest?

**A/N: Standard disclaimer applies. I don't own Numb3rs or any of the characters. In this fic, I do own Stupid Cop, but that's about it. If you choose to sue me, you should know up front that all you'll be getting is a lot of Ramen noodles and maybe some engineering textbooks. Sorry.  
**

**This fic will probably be 2 or 3 chapters at most. Really. I mean it this time.  
**

* * *

Don's gaze flicked back and forth between his hand and the brick wall in front of him. Both were smeared with blood. His blood. Fine particles of brick and mortar were embedded in his knuckles. His hand throbbed, the pain radiating up his arm every time his heart beat. Before he knew it, he punched the wall again. The throbbing intensified, but he hardly noticed. 

Despite the chill of the winter evening, Don had shed his jacket and now stood only in short sleeves. Alcohol was pumping through his system, keeping him warm even without the burden of extra clothing.

The last case had been rough. Rougher than most. A child molester had eluded capture for five full weeks now. They'd finally brought him in, thanks to one of Charlie's magic equations. The perp had lawyered up before they even sat him down in the interrogation room. After the molester was taken to the lock-up to await arraignment, Don's team had spent two hours at one of the local bars, drowning their memories of the case. They had all seen too much. Cases involving kids were always the hardest, and this one especially tough. Don only wished that he could drink enough to forget the images from the case file. Too many innocent lives destroyed by one man.

Thankfully, Megan had the foresight to have everyone carpool to the bar. That way, they'd only leave one government SUV in the bar's parking lot, while the four agents found alternative transportation home, all of them intoxicated far beyond the legal driving limit. Don was the last to leave. He'd assured his teammates that he would call a cab after he finished his last beer, but now that he'd left the bar, he didn't want to go home quite yet.

So here he was, punching a brick wall just a hundred feet from the bar's exit. He was too impaired to recognize the flashing of lights behind him or the first second of a siren's whine. He didn't hear the man addressing him from the street. The first thing he noticed was a hand gripping his left bicep. Startled, Don twisted in the man's grip and threw a right hook across his body, catching the man square in the jaw.

Before he knew what was going on, he was tackled to the ground, face-first. Someone heavy was pinning him down and twisting his arms behind his back. Don's instinctual reaction was to fight to get free. He didn't know who was attacking him or why, but he didn't want to stick around long enough to find out.

As he struggled, more weight was applied to his shoulders and back, effectively keeping him immobile. He heard unfamiliar voices beside his head, but everything was swimming around him, and he couldn't focus on what they were saying. Only when steel bracelets were tightened around his wrists did he start to figure out what was going on.

Two guys picked him up by his upper arms and deposited him on his feet, although they still didn't let go. He was guided toward the curb, where a car door was being held open. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Don forced himself to focus on what the voices around him were saying. "… arrest for public intoxication and assaulting a police officer. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney..."

Don blinked hard and worked his mouth a few times before he could manage to form any words. "I'm FBI," he slurred. The man holding his right arm didn't even pause in reciting his Miranda rights. When they reached the police cruiser, they propped him up against the trunk and proceeded to frisk him. "Fed'ral a'nt," Don tried again, even less intelligibly than before. Don briefly wondered where his sidearm was, knowing that would be a dead giveaway, but he vaguely remembered securing it in his desk before leaving the office. First rule of going out for a drink after a long day at the office was to leave any weapons behind. Impaired judgment aside, with slower reaction times, it would be too easy for an opponent to snatch the weapon and use it against the agent.

The uniformed cop did a poor job of patting down the Special Agent. If he had been thorough, he would have found Don's badge still attached to his belt, hidden by the bottom of his shirt. That was the second rule of drinking after work. Don't draw any unnecessary attention to yourself. Flashing a badge might deter some people from trying anything, but if the agent was intoxicated enough, it would just be better to go unnoticed. If anything started to go down, the agent could always then make himself known.

Having now been frisked and Mirandized, Don was pushed into the back seat of the cruiser, one cop's hand on his head, another gripping his right bicep. Don had given up trying to communicate his federal status, thinking he would try again when they got to the station. For now, he was content to lean into his seat and close his eyes. Normally, he would be furious by now, but the alcohol had just made him sluggish and more easy-going.

When Don next opened his eyes, they had arrived at the station, and the cop was pulling open the back seat door. Don blinked against the harsh sunlight as he struggled to get out of the cruiser. The fact that his hands were still cuffed behind his back did nothing to help the situation. Finally upright, Don stumbled, almost falling against the cop on his right.

"Whoa, bud," the cop took his arm and led him inside.

Crossing the threshold, Don decided that this would be a good time to try communicating again. "F. B. I." he said as clearly as he could manage.

"What was that?" Stupid Cop asked.

"FBI, dumbass," Don slurred. He knew he should refrain from insulting the cop, but it slipped out before he could stop himself.

The cop let him slam into the next doorframe as they walked through. "Watch your mouth," he growled.

They kept moving down the corridor. Don was getting more frustrated that the cop was intentionally ignoring what he was trying to communicate. "Phone call," Don began to insist.

"After we get you booked," Stupid Cop answered shortly.

"Now."

"No. Later."

Stupid Cop was beginning to get on Don's nerves. Before long, the pair stopped, and Don found a breathalyzer being shoved toward his face. "Blow into it," Stupid Cop instructed. Don rolled his eyes. As if he didn't know what he was supposed to do with a _breath_alyzer. Only after losing a stare-down with Stupid Cop did Don comply. Stupid Cop pulled the device away. When he checked the readout, he arched an eyebrow at the agent.

"Not even seven o' clock," Stupid Cop shook his head, sounding disgusted. He took Don's arm again and started to lead him down another hallway.

"Don Eppes?" The cop and agent stopped and turned toward the voice.

"You know this man, Lieutenant?"

"Do I know him? Of course! That's Special Agent Don Eppes, FBI."

"FBI? Maybe that's what he was trying to tell us earlier," Stupid Cop sounded like he'd just had an epiphany. Don glared at him with disgust.

Lieutenant Walker turned his attention back to Don, apparently just noticing the handcuffs for the first time. "What's going on here?" The question was directed at Stupid Cop.

"PI and assaulting a cop while resisting arrest. Found him just outside of a bar. Wasted off his ass. He was punching a brick wall. We thought he was a danger to himself, and probably to others, so we brought him in."

"Why does it look like you've both been knocked around?"

"We tried to get his attention, but he didn't respond, so I grabbed his arm. He punched me, so Rogers tackled him. We tried to bring him in easy, but he fought us all the way."

Don swayed where he stood. He tried to put out a hand to balance himself against the wall, but his hands were still cuffed behind his back.

"You alright, Eppes?" Walker asked.

"'m fine," he mumbled.

"Sure about that?"

"I'm _fine_!" Don insisted, despite his inability to stand straight up without Stupid Cop's grip on his arm.

Lieutenant Walker glanced back and forth between the two men. "Alright. I'll handle this one, Stephens," he sighed. "What did he blow?"

Stupid Cop hesitated before responding. "Point two three." Walker's eyes widened, but he motioned for Stephens to let go.

Stupid Cop abruptly released Don's arm. Don, who had been leaning against the grip to stabilize himself, immediately stumbled. Walker stepped in and caught the agent. Stupid Cop was obviously disappointed – it appeared that Don was getting off the hook for everything. "I'll tell you one thing," Stupid Cop added as he walked away. "He's got a hell of a right hook, even drunk."

Walker shook his head at Stephens. With practiced movements, he uncuffed the agent. Slowly, he guided Don into the elevator and propped him in the corner while he mashed the button for the fourth floor. "Today is your lucky day, Eppes," he commented while the elevator car ascended. "My office is on the fourth floor; I don't usually do much on the first except pass through." Don was obviously not paying attention to what Walker was saying. He had just leaned his head against the elevator wall when it dinged to a halt, indicating they had reached their destination.

"Ah, no you don't, Eppes. Don't pass out on me yet." Walker deftly maneuvered the drunken agent out of the elevator and into his office. "Just sit right there," he instructed as he deposited him in a chair. The Lieutenant sat down at his desk, picked up his phone, and looked up a phone number. After a brief conversation, Walker replaced the phone receiver in the cradle and looked at Don.

"What the hell were you thinking, Eppes?"

Don's head was spinning, but now that he was sitting down, it wasn't so bad. "Bad case," he mumbled.

Lieutenant Walker nodded in understanding. "How much did you have to drink?"

"I dunno," Don slurred. "Stopped counting after six."

"You know I don't approve of law enforcement officers thinking they're above the law. But I also know that you are an exceptional agent, and I wouldn't want you to kill your career because of this one stupid mistake."

Don tried to focus on the Lieutenant's face as he spoke, but it was hard to concentrate that long. He nodded to show that he heard and understood at least some of what Walker was saying. "Thanks," he replied.

"You just sit tight in here, I'll get you some water. Your brother said he could be here in an hour."

Don nodded again. He had passed out by the time Lt Walker returned with the water. Walker shook his head again, still not quite believing what he saw. He set the cup of water on the edge of his desk closest to the unconscious agent. The Lieutenant decided that he was at least fortunate that Don hadn't puked in his office yet.


	2. Charlie to the Rescue

**A/N: I got a couple of responses to the last chapter indicating skepticism about Don referring to Officer Stephens as "Stupid Cop," saying that it seems out of character for him. Feel free to disagree with me, I really don't mind, but here's my justification. I completely agree that Don, when sober, is much too respectful to think about other law enforcement personnel like that. However, I have seen many people, myself included, do or say things that are very out of character while intoxicated. I figure that Don is no different, and would quite possibly do/say/think things when drunk that he would later regret, especially if he thinks that the cop is being intentionally dense. Again, I won't be offended if you disagree.**

* * *

Charlie stuffed his laptop and a textbook filled with student papers into his bag. Lieutenant Walker had called in the middle of a committee meeting that the genius math professor was supposed to be leading, thanks to _Mildred_. The meeting had started at 6:30, and it looked like it was going to last forever. Charlie had managed to breeze through some of the topics on the evening's agenda, skipping others altogether. Finally, at 7:45, he managed to wrap up the meeting and escape before anyone tried to stop him to talk. After a quick detour to his office, the prof was headed to the parking lot. 

While driving to the police station, Charlie called Megan on his cell phone. She didn't answer. Neither did Colby or David. He started to worry. Lieutenant Walker hadn't been specific on the phone about what was going on, just that Don was at his office and that Charlie needed to come as soon as he got a chance.

Charlie quickly parked and ran inside the police station. After passing through security, he asked the nearest cop where he could find Lieutenant Walker's office. The officer unenthusiastically told Charlie to go to the fourth floor, third door on the left. Charlie thanked the man before striding quickly to the elevator. He didn't want to look panicked, but he was worried about Don and his team. Why weren't any of them answering their phones?

The ride in the elevator seemed agonizingly long, but soon enough, Charlie found himself at Walker's office door. He knocked, then waited briefly as the Lieutenant opened the door. "Ah, Professor Eppes. Come on in."

Charlie's eyes glanced over the whole room as he took a step inside. They came to rest on the unconscious form of his brother, slumped over in a chair against the wall. "What happened?" came a strangled cry from Charlie's throat.

"He had too much to drink," Walker explained calmly. "A couple of my officers picked him up while he was punching a brick wall outside of a bar."

Charlie ripped his eyes away from his older brother so he could look at Walker. His heart rate was slowing back down to a normal rhythm, but he was still concerned. "What do you mean, they picked him up?"

Walker chuckled for a second, although he didn't sound very amused. "They actually arrested him for Public Intoxication. He punched the guy trying to detain him, so they charged him for that, too." When Charlie's eyes widened, the Lieutenant tried to reassure him. "I ran into them before they actually booked him, so the charges have been dropped."

Running a hand through his curly hair, Charlie nodded. "So, what now?"

"Well, your brother is really drunk right now, as you can see." Walker motioned to the still-sleeping body in the room. "I imagine that you'll want to take him home. Don's mentioned your… unique situation when you were in college, so I don't really know if you've had any experience taking care of anyone who is completely wasted." He paused. Charlie nodded again. Walker continued. "Then you'll know not to let him sleep on his back; if he throws up, he could choke. Keep an eye on him for the next several hours. He's not had any more to drink in the last hour, but he's had enough that he might be in danger of acute alcohol poisoning. Just keep watch to verify that he's still breathing."

While working on his PhD, Charlie was actually the normal age for college students, so he remembered the nights in the dorms when someone down the hall would stumble in after a wild party. There were many times when Charlie had to stay up with one of the freshmen to make sure they didn't die in the night from drinking too much. He just never figured he would have to do it with his older brother. Especially not when his brother was just a couple years shy of forty. Don always seemed so responsible when he had a beer at the house. Charlie didn't understand what had happened.

"Did he… did he say why he drank so much?" Charlie asked, still stunned.

Walker shrugged a bit. "All he said was that it was a bad case. I don't know anything else." Charlie sighed.

"I should probably get him home now." Charlie stopped beside his brother's chair and shook his shoulder. Don didn't wake up. "DON!" Charlie shouted in the agent's ear as he shook him, a little harder this time. Don's eyelids peeled open and his eyes shifted as he tried to focus on his younger brother.

"Char-lie," he slurred, smiling broadly.

"Come on, Eppes." Lieutenant Walker helped Charlie stand his brother up and draped the agent's arm across Charlie's back and shoulder. The professor kept one arm around his brother's waist as they navigated back toward the elevator. Walker pushed the buttons for the brothers as he escorted them down to the lobby and out of the building.

Just as the pair stepped out of the police station, Walker added one last thing. "Charlie, tell Don that he needs to stop by my office on his way to work tomorrow morning. I want to make sure that he understands what I told him earlier tonight, since he probably won't remember any of this in the morning." Charlie nodded in confirmation. "Tell him that half an hour should be enough time."

Charlie called out his thanks to the Lieutenant as he guided Don toward his car. It was awkward trying to manipulate the agent's limbs so he was sitting in the passenger seat, all extremities clear of the door. As Charlie turned the key in the ignition, he checked the car's clock. Nine o' clock. It was only nine, yet Charlie felt drained.

The drive back to Charlie's house passed in silence. Don was drifting in and out of consciousness, and Charlie was furious, but knew that this was not the time to yell at his brother. Even if he did, Don wouldn't remember in the morning, so it would be useless. Charlie was not looking forward to the long night ahead of them. Don would be passed out, but Charlie, who was already exhausted, had to stay awake and take care of him.

When they arrived at Charlie's house, the younger brother had to wake up the older, pull him out of the car, get them inside the house, and position the older so he was lying on his side on the couch. Then came the really interesting part: explaining all of this to their father.

Alan, too, was stunned at first. He would never have expected something like this from Donnie. Then, like Charlie, he got angry. How could Donnie have been so irresponsible? This was something a college student would do. Not a seasoned FBI agent. Not Donald Eppes, former Special Agent in charge of the Albuquerque office. Had he and Charlie missed any signs leading up to this? Alan couldn't remember Don acting any differently than any other time he was on a tough case.

As Charlie settled into a recliner opposite the couch, Alan insisted that they take shifts watching Don. Charlie argued for a while, but Alan's mind, once made up, was nearly impossible to change. Finally, Charlie gave in, but insisted on taking the first shift. As he watched his father yawn and leave the room, the youngest Eppes made the decision not to wake his father. He could handle this on his own; no need to cause Alan to lose sleep over Don's stupid decision.

The hours passed slowly. Charlie caught up on most of his grading, which was good since finals were quickly approaching. Don woke up at midnight and groaned. Charlie was at his side in an instant, a cup of water in hand. He remembered from his college days just how little coordination people had when they were this drunk, so he had found a straw to help prevent spills. Don mumbled unintelligibly for a couple seconds, but went silent when he saw the water. The mathematician helped the agent sit up so he wouldn't choke on the water, then held the straw to his brother's mouth. Don drank greedily, emptying the glass in under a minute.

"You want something to eat?" Charlie asked softly. Don nodded a fraction, so Charlie went into the kitchen to find some bread. While he was opening the twist-tie on the bread bag, he heard something splatter in the living room. Bread forgotten altogether, Charlie ran back to the couch, wrinkling his nose at what he found. Don had already passed out again, but not before decorating the floor and the front of the couch with the contents of his stomach. Thankfully, it was mostly the water that he had just swallowed. Charlie checked that Don was still breathing before starting to clean up the mess.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Don woke a few more times requesting food or drink, but Charlie told him to go back to sleep. The professor was not at all interested in cleaning _that_ up again.

* * *

TBC 


	3. Attack of the Killer Hangover

**A/N: Ah, the joyous time of year known as Finals Week! Thankfully, I only have to endure one more of these for a very long time. As promised, Chapter 3 is the end of this one. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Have a wonderful holiday season!  
**

* * *

When morning rolled around, Alan was upset with Charlie for not waking him, but contented himself with fixing breakfast, planning to discuss it later with his youngest. Charlie shook Don awake. The agent groaned, trying to resist the return to consciousness. Charlie persisted. Finally, Don opened his eyes and looked around, obviously confused. Alan walked in before Don had a chance to say anything.

"Coffee, boys?"

Don started to assent, but Charlie cut him off. "_I'll_ take coffee, but _Don_ needs water."

The agent glared at his younger brother. "What gives you the right to decide what I have to drink?"

Charlie glared back, still furious. "_I_ stayed up all night watching you to make sure you didn't die. And _you _are dehydrated as hell. I get coffee, you get water."

"Why am I even at your house?" Don finally asked.

"We'll talk about it later," Charlie answered gruffly. He knew that Lieutenant Walker was going to give Don a pretty stern dressing down, and he didn't want to steal any of the cop's thunder. Anyway, since Don's SUV was still presumably at the office or the bar, Charlie would have to drive his older brother to the police station and to the FBI office. There would be plenty of time for talking in the car.

Don shrugged and stood up to head toward the dining room. Standing up quickly didn't turn out to be the best move. Don quickly clutched his forehead in his hands, trying futilely to fight the splitting headache. "Yeah, maybe water's best," he mumbled, conceding the point to his younger brother. As he shuffled to the table, Don began to wonder why he was so sore all over.

Alan placed a plate of food in front of each of his sons as Don eased himself into his chair. No sudden movements today, he decided. As he sat, smelling and looking at his food, Don's stomach turned over. Maybe he didn't really want to eat, either. He settled for sipping the glass of water in front of him.

Charlie noticed his brother's lack of appetite. "Don, you have to eat," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. Don had actually never heard his brother this stern before, and it surprised him. He'd seen his brother frustrated, but never _angry_. This definitely sounded like Charlie was angry.

"Don!" Charlie's voice was sharp. The agent grimaced from the pain in his head. "Eat!"

If only to prevent Charlie from using that voice again, Don picked up his fork and slowly, mechanically, put food in his mouth. He found that he was chewing to the same rhythm that his head was pounding. After the first mouthful went down, and stayed down, Don grew a bit more confident. Apparently satisfied, Charlie didn't say anything else.

Alan regarded his two sons as they all ate their breakfast. Don was understandably silent. The hang-over must be bad. Charlie, on the other hand, was silently brooding. Alan didn't quite understand. Sure, Alan had been angry and surprised at Don's behavior the night before. But it was over now. Don had made the stupid decision, and now he was paying the consequences for it. There was really no reason to continue to be angry. Surely he would learn his lesson – even someone with as thick a skull as Don couldn't ignore a hangover.

When Don had cleaned his plate, Charlie told him to get ready for work. Without protesting, Don got up from the table and headed up to the bathroom as smoothly as he could. He didn't like this new, irritable, bossy Charlie, but the younger man had said they would talk later. And at the moment, Don felt like he was swimming in alcohol. Everything he tasted or smelled was reminiscent of the beer he'd been drinking last night. The idea of a hot shower and brushing his teeth with lots of toothpaste sounded great.

A few minutes later, Don clenched his jaw and headed back downstairs. The jarring thud every time he lowered himself to the next step resounded through his skull and gut. This was not going to be a good morning. Hopefully none of their new cases would require much fieldwork until tomorrow.

The drive away from their house was tense. Charlie's knuckles were white from his death-grip on the steering wheel. Don wanted his happy, talkative brother back. "What's going on, buddy?" he asked softly as they pulled out of the neighborhood.

Charlie shot back a look that Don couldn't interpret. "I don't want to talk about it yet," he responded ominously. Don arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything else.

The silence in the car was awkward, to say the least. Finally, Don spoke up again. "Uhhh, Charlie, I don't know if you realize it, but this isn't the way to my office."

Charlie gave him a confused glance, but it quickly faded back to the sullen face he'd been wearing all morning. "We have to make a detour first," he said at last, just as they were pulling up to the police station. "You need to go up to see Lieutenant Walker. He's expecting you. Fourth floor, third door on the left. He said to have a seat in his office if he isn't there when you get there."

Don's face quickly showed confusion. He wanted to ask what Charlie was talking about, or why Lt Walker wanted to see him, but he figured that he wouldn't get any better response than he'd been getting all morning. Charlie put the car in park and shut off the ignition, giving Don a pointed look that he was supposed to get out now.

Pulling the door handle, Don slowly got out of the car. "You're waiting for me?" he asked tentatively, hoping his brother wasn't planning on just leaving him here. Charlie nodded curtly, so Don shut the door and made his way, slowly, into the police station.

Charlie watched his brother go with a sense of relief. He hadn't trusted himself not to blow up at Don, so he just hadn't said anything all morning. Maybe while Don was in talking to Lt Walker, Charlie would have the opportunity to relax and compose himself. Not to mention the fact that he expected Don to return to the car looking like a dog with his tail between his legs.

* * *

Don found Walker's office easily enough, although the dinging noise of the elevator had sent waves of pain through his head. Sure enough, when he got to Walker's door, it was open, but the Lieutenant wasn't there. He gingerly took a seat on one side of the desk, his back to the open door. 

A couple minutes passed, and Don wondered whether he should call Walker's cell to let him know he was here. A moment later, the need was put to bed. Don flinched as the door slammed behind him, the noise setting off his headache anew. He turned to see the Lieutenant behind him. Walker said nothing as he stepped around the desk and took his seat opposing Don.

The two law enforcement officers regarded each other silently for several seconds before Don started the conversation.

"So why did you tell Charlie to bring me here?" he asked quietly, getting straight to the point, skipping any pleasantries.

Walker nodded, as if confirming his suspicion. "What do you remember about last night?" he asked, seemingly ignoring Don's question.

Don thought back, but most of the evening was hazy at best, a complete blank at worst. "Uhh," he stammered. "I remember my team finishing the case we were working, then we all took Megan's car to a bar. I know we all had a few drinks, but I can't really remember anything after that." Don was getting suspicious. Had something bad happened that he couldn't remember? Was that why Charlie was so upset this morning?

"So you don't remember leaving the bar?" Don shook his head, immediately regretting the action. "And you don't remember standing there, punching a brick wall?" Don looked down at his right hand, now understanding why his knuckles were scabbed over. "You don't remember a couple of my officers trying to get your attention? Or how you punched Officer Stephens when he grabbed your arm?" Don sharply looked back from his bloodied knuckles to the Lieutenant. "Or getting tackled to the ground by Officer Rogers?" Don shook his head again, slowly this time. That would explain why he was sore.

Walker stood up, putting his hands on his desk and leaning forward. Don resisted the instinct to lean back in his chair. "Then I suppose you have no memory of being arrested for public intoxication and assaulting one of my police officers." Walker's voice was sharper this time.

Don's eyes widened. He'd been arrested?! "But how did I wake up in my brother's house, and not in the drunk tank?" he asked softly, hoping the Lieutenant would follow suit.

No such luck. Walker's voice only got louder. "You are damn lucky, Eppes. I happened to see you and Officer Stephens before he actually booked you. I don't know why the hell you were stupid enough to get that drunk and not call a cab. But you damn well better not let it happen again." Don nodded. "Two three, Eppes. You blew a two three at seven p.m. You were lucky not to kill yourself last night. A couple more beers and you would've needed immediate medical attention." Don swallowed, eyes even wider.

Walker paused. After a couple seconds of silence, Don asked the inevitable. "So are you going to…" he trailed off, not really wanting to finish the thought process.

"Tell your boss?" Walker finished it for him. Don nodded a fraction. "Do I need to? I was hoping that realizing you'd almost been thrown in jail for a night, having absolutely no recollection of it would be a pretty good deterrent from ever doing something this stupid again." Walker's voice had risen in volume a little more, also raising the pain level in Don's head a little more.

Don wasn't sure what the appropriate response would be, so Walker continued. "I put my reputation on the line for you last night, Eppes. I've tried to show my people that I don't believe in cops being above the law. But I also don't believe in throwing away a good cop's, or in your case, agent's career because of one really, really stupid mistake." His voice had risen again, but toward the end, he had lowered it back down, much to Don's relief. "And trust me, that was a really, really stupid mistake."

Head pounding, Don couldn't focus to form very many coherent thoughts to put into words. "Thanks," he said, very simply.

"I hope I didn't throw away my reputation for nothing last night, Eppes," he stated plainly. Don understood his meaning clearly.

"I won't let it happen again," Don assured the Lieutenant. Walker nodded, apparently satisfied.

"You better not. Next time, you won't get off so easy." Don nodded solemnly. "One last thing before I let you go to work, Eppes." Don arched an eyebrow. "What in hell possessed you to get that tanked last night?"

Don regarded his hands for a few seconds before making eye contact again with the Lieutenant. "Child molester," he began simply. "We'd been trying to catch him for five weeks. There were more than a hundred kids that he hurt, most of them before we got the case. I can't get their pictures out of my head. Or their voices from the video interviews. Girls, boys, he didn't care. No-one that young should have to experience what those kids went through. Not a single one of those kids will ever be the same. All because of one perverted bastard." The agent couldn't continue for a minute. His eyes studied the floor. Finally, he looked back up. "He smiled when we caught him. Claimed he hadn't done anything wrong, even when we found two broken little boys locked up in his house. He was in charge of running camps for special needs kids, all under the age of ten. He said he _loves_ all the children he works with. Who knows how many others he abused that we have no idea about? Cases like that… they're the hardest to deal with. I hope he rots in hell." Don shuddered, trying to cast off the memories.

Walker nodded. "Next time, call a cab," he said quietly, knowing there was nothing he could say to erase the pain.

"You've got a hell of a brother," the Lieutenant changed the subject after another few seconds of silence. "He was worried sick when I called him last night to come get you. Be sure to thank him. I imagine he's tired of waiting," Walker said by way of dismissal.

Don nodded, then stood and walked out of the police station, numb as he made his way to the car where his brother was waiting. Don opened the passenger door, slid into his seat, and buckled his seatbelt without even looking at his brother. He could feel Charlie looking at him, but silence reigned for almost a full minute. Finally, Don spoke.

"Thanks for picking me up last night. And for staying up all night to make sure I was okay," Don said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Charlie reached out and put his hand on Don's shoulder. "You had me pretty worried last night," Charlie admitted, his voice only a little louder than Don's. "And I was pretty angry. I just never imagined that _I_ would have to take care of _you_, especially not because of this. Especially now that we're older. It's just that… what you did was so… stupid and irresponsible. Which is completely unlike you. You're always responsible, and you're really smart. I still don't understand what would make you do that to yourself."

At length, Don finally made eye contact with his younger brother. "I'm sorry. I'd like to tell you that I didn't _want_ to get hammered last night, but that would be lying. Sometimes, the cases we work just… get to us. This was one of those. If you remember, I didn't even let you see the case files on this one, just the info we gave you." Charlie nodded. "I didn't want you to have those images in your head. Hell, I don't want those images in _my_ head. If I never had to work another case like that, I'd die a happy man."

Pulling his hand away from Don's shoulder, Charlie started the car. "Next time," he began.

"I know, I know. Call a cab," Don finished with a laugh.

Charlie smiled a little. "I was going to say, call me."

Don smiled back. "Thanks."

* * *

Don thanked Charlie again for the ride as the mathematician began to pull away from the curb. Another day, another case, Don thought as he rode up the elevator. His head was still pounding, a pain sensation heightened by every ding of the elevator as it stopped on each floor. Finally, it arrived at the bullpen, and Don stepped out, extremely glad to get away from the dings. 

As he entered the bullpen, Don glanced over the rest of his team. Despite the incredible pain pulsing through his head, he smiled. Even if the rest of his team hadn't almost gotten arrested, they'd all had almost as much to drink as he had, so they were all experiencing the same miserable hang-over. "Reeves," he greeted as he approached his cubicle. "You look like hell this morning."

"Right back at ya, boss," she returned the gibe. "What happened to you last night?" she asked, noticing his bloody knuckles and scraped chin from where he'd been tackled.

"Long story, Reeves," he replied. "And one not fully appreciated unless under the influence."

Megan laughed and shook her head, immediately regretting the motion.

Yes, it was going to be a _long_ day.


End file.
